Not Quite Strangers
by Liberty Roth
Summary: Puck/Rachel. It all started when she asked to borrow his jacket on a cold day.
1. Chapter 1

Never trust the weatherman.

That was what Puck quickly learned in his first few years of dressing himself. Sure, the television station would _say _there would be a sunny day with no clouds in sight and a high of 87 degrees. But did that ever happen? No. Never trust the weatherman with his goddamn creepy mustache and over-jolly looking cheeks. It had to be makeup… but anyway, staying on track: never trust the weatherman. That was why Noah Puckerman had chosen jeans, a t-shirt, and his letterman jacket draped over one arm instead of the typical shorts and tank tops everyone else was choosing based on that dolt's forecast.

He wasn't regretting it right now, either. A pep assembly was being held outside, in the chilly 48 degree weather. With wind. Everyone else was huddled together in groups on the silver bleachers, freezing their asses off while he had his sturdy letterman jacket zipped up. Haha. That was what they deserved – if they hadn't learned that seven times out of ten the weatherman was incorrect, they were going to get used to either freezing their asses off in their miniskirts or melting their face off in turtlenecks.

The cheerleaders looked freezing down on the field as they shifted from sneakered foot to sneakered foot and for the first time in his life, he was glad that he wasn't near them. Coach had decided the football team didn't need to make an appearance on the field, so Puck was able to stay up in the bleachers where the wind could fruitlessly rip at his jacket while his iPod happily blared in his ears.

He hadn't even noticed that Rachel Berry was sitting near him until he felt a poke on his shoulder and turned to see her mouthing something at him. Oh, no, wait, she was talking. He just couldn't hear her because of the music. He pulled an ear bud out of his ear. "What?"

She looked apologetic and vulnerable, with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Can I borrow your jacket?" she questioned, making an 'I'm sorry' face at him. Oh. It would figure that she wanted to borrow his jacket. She was wearing a skirt, after all, with one of her weird sweater vest things. Couldn't be very warm.

Puck looked down at his jacket, plucking the collar while he spoke to her. "I'm wearing it," Rachel looked like she needed a translation, so he continued. "That's a no."

That was that. Rachel turned away and Puck went back to his music. Except, well, he could still see her out of the corner of his eye. She was all hunched up, her fingers rubbing her forearms as she tried to get warm.

Finally, Puck surrendered. He unzipped his jacket, pulling it off and thrusting it over at her. "Take it," he said, keeping his eyes carefully on the cheerleaders down on the field.

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked, looking surprised. She was sliding her arms through the jacket, though, appreciating the warmness. God, she looked oddly small in his jacket. It dwarfed her, the bottom of the jacket skimming the tops of her thighs and the sleeves hiding her hands completely.

"No," Puck said, shaking his head as he turned his music back up. Though Rachel managed a quiet 'thank you,' he didn't hear it.

* * *

This of course takes place before the "Mash Up" episode. Which I adored, even though it was brief and sweet. But anyway, pretend it never happened. Or has yet to happen. Whichever makes more sense. So this is actually based on a true story. Where I live we've been having insane weather days – it was 50 degrees or so for the first three days of last week and then 80 by Friday. Tomorrow? Expecting snow.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn't take long for Puck to forget that Rachel had his jacket, especially since it started to warm up by dinner time. It wasn't until he was vacating a Pizza Hut with his friends and the cold air blasted him right in the face (Okay, so the day went from cold to warm to cold again? The hell?) that he remembered he had a jacket at all. As he piled into his friend's SUV, one of the other passengers noticed his insane shivering.

"Dude, don't you have a jacket?" he questioned.

Puck huddled up against the car vent that he hoped would expel some heat sometime soon. "_Yessss,_" he managed, staring daggers at the kid. Evidently he didn't notice, though, since he kept pressing on.

"Well, where's it at?" the same boy asked.

It took all of Puck's self control to not rip the jacket from the boy's chest and put it on himself. "I don't know," he said honestly. And he really didn't. Who knew what _Rachel Berry_ did on the weekend? Probably went to show choir camp or something. Ironed her clothes. Who knew?

"You lost your _letterman _jacket? Really? That sucks," the boy said sympathetically. Puck said nothing in return, turning back to the vent that was starting to release some heat.

_We'll see how sympathetic you are when I punch you in the face, _he thought to himself, before kicking the back of the driver's seat. "How about some heat, huh? I'm freezing back here!"

Later, Noah's mom wanted to know where his jacket was at, too. _How do people keep noticing these things? _he wondered to himself as he stood in front of his mother. "I loaned it to someone at the pep rally today," he explained.

"Why?" she questioned suspiciously. He had no idea _why _he would lie about loaning a jacket out. It was just a jacket. But his mother was a suspicious sort of person.

"Cause it was cold," he said, moving to the kitchen to dig around for a soda. His mother followed him like a dog, one hand on her hip as she leaned against a kitchen counter. "I'm not lying. I promise."

"Yeah, like that'll make me suddenly believe you," his mom said with a laugh. She paused in her laughter, looking like something had just occurred to her. "Is this person a girl?"

He sighed, starting to walk down the narrow hallway to his room. In his house, rooms were off limits. They were a safety zone. He couldn't talk to his mother while she was in her room, she couldn't talk to him when he was in his room, his little sister couldn't barge into his, etc.

"Well?" she pressed. "Was it?"

He hesitated as he turned the doorknob to his room. "Yeah, she's a girl," he said. Thinking of Rachel Berry as a girl was kind of hard. She was annoying and high pitched and more like a fly than a girl. But she had boobs, though, and nice legs. Yeah, okay, she was a girl. Definitely.

"Is she Jewish?" his mother piped through the door to his room.

"No, she's a goat sacrificing Satanist," he called back, cracking open the tab of his soda. The hiss of the carbonation sort of drowned out the 'uhhhhh!' sound his mother was making in the hallway. He waited until she was gone, teetering off to microwave dinner before he yelled at her, "Yeah, she's a Jew! No, I'm not marrying her! No, I'm not dating her! Yes, I'm sure!"

There. That would answer all of his mother's questions that she routinely asked him about the latest girl he had interacted with. For once, though, Mrs. Puckerman surprised her son. She knocked softly on his door with one more question.

"Is she pretty?"

"No, Mom, she's the ugliest damn thing on this side of the Atlantic," he yelled to her. This struck him as a little mean (and his mom was starting to harp on him about his language use) so he continued with, "Yeah, she's pretty. She's also into thievery. I'm pretty sure she runs an underground white slavery ring."

His mom made the annoyed 'uhhh!' sound again, stalking off.

* * *

For some reason it was really hard not to make Puck cuss too badly in this chapter. I have no idea why, lawl, I think I'm just a potty mouth you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

_Hands. Touching hands. Reaching out. Touching me... touching you._

That is all.

* * *

The next morning rolled around a few hours later, after Puck had alternated watching _The Girls Next Door _and _Family Guy. _Eventually he had fallen asleep, his mouth open and soft snores escaping from between his lips as the sounds of a bespectacled, middle aged man droned in the background. His alarm clock had promptly interrupted whatever dreams he was having (he was on a boat, for some reason below deck swimming in a pool) and jerked him back to reality.

And, hey, reality was fricking cold.

He was shivering by the time he walked from his car to the glass doors of the school, wondering why he didn't have a backup jacket. Well, technically he _did_, but it was purchased in middle school before he ever knew that someone could have guns that didn't take bullets.

He wanted his jacket back. Now. Before he lost feeling in his fingers and… other extremities. "Man, I wish I had first period with Rachel Berry," he muttered to himself, prying books away from his jam-packed locker without really looking to see who was around him. He probably should have, though, because when Puck turned, he saw one of the football players staring at him incredulously.

"What? Did you just say you wanted to have first period with Rachel Berry?" the boy asked, looking like he was torn between being sick and laughing his ass off.

Puck brushed him off easily, rolling his eyes. "No. I said 'I wish your mom's upper lip wasn't so hairy,'" he 'clarified,' kicking his locker shut as he started down the hallway. "Me? Wanting to have my first class with Rachel Berry? No way."

But as Noah Puckerman let his fingers tap away on his first period desk, he really _did _want to have his first class with Rachel. The school heaters weren't really up and running (He didn't blame the maintenance guys – who knew it was going to be _this _cold _this _early in the year?) so it was fairly cool in the classrooms, even with all of the body heat built up in the rooms.

By the end of first hour, he was ready to go to second hour Sociology. More than ready. His leg, which he had been bouncing up and down to try and retain some of his body heat, was ready to take off to the class that he had with Rachel. He wanted his damn jacket back.

But when he walked into Sociology, Rachel didn't seem to have his jacket. It wasn't on her. At least, he didn't _think _it was, unless she was hiding it in… no, he wouldn't even think that. Rachel Berry wouldn't hide _anything _in her bra or shirt or whatever. "Hey," he said casually, poking her shoe with his. "Where's my jacket?"

"Hmm?" she questioned, turning to look at him. Her hair shifted as she turned, the dark strands falling over her shoulder. "Oh. Your jacket. Well, actually, I wanted to talk to you about that."

A cold hand clenched his stomach. "_Please _tell me you didn't lose it," he half-begged.

"I didn't lose it," she promised, smiling slightly. A blur of motion caught his eye; she was twirling her ink pen between her fingers. "I know _exactly _where it's at. Don't worry."

"Which is _where?_" he pressed. What was she _doing_? Where was his jacket at? She didn't have it on her. He didn't think her backpack was big enough to carry it. "Is it in your locker?"

"No, it's in my washing machine. Probably going through a rinse cycle right now. Don't worry, though, because I read the label before I washed it and I used a mild detergent that won't leave you smelling too feminine."

The hand came back, but this time it plucked his stomach right from his guts and put it into a _Sweeney Todd_-esque meat grinder. "You. Washed. My. Jacket."

Rachel blinked, looking a little confused at his angry tone. "Yes? I wanted to say thank you for letting me borrow it. You know, as a favor."

"Okay, _listen,_" he said, his hand clenching the side of his desk rather forcefully. "The next time you want to do me a _favor_, you can get one of your Broadway idols to come here and give me a lap dance. You don't _wash my lucky jacket._"

"First of all, all of _my _idols are classy and I don't appreciate you insinuating that any one of them would give an underage minor _any _kind of sexual show. I did you a _favor_, Noah. I washed your smelly jacket for you. It's _still _your lucky jacket, it's just your _clean _lucky jacket now," Rachel said, the pen between her fingers growing still as she looked… kinda angry. Whoa. He had seen her mad before, but now she looked… just plain pissed. "And if you want it back so _badly_, you can just come to my house and pick it up yourself. I was going to deliver it to you later, but since you've been so rude, you can just come get it yourself."

She turned promptly in her chair, her hair swishing once more as she went back to copying down the bell work.

Holy shit.

Had he just been pushed into silence by _Rachel Berry? _

* * *

Okay, so I have a question for you guys. WHAT IS PUCK/RACHEL CALLED? Is it, like… Pachel? Rack? Ruck? PUCHEL? I HAVE NO IDEA. IDEK. -flail-

And hey, yeah, I realize that my Puck is kind of a jerk. It isn't permanent, I promise. He just has to appear all macho and uncaring for his football friends… and his mom. Idk. He's getting softer. Don't worry.


	4. Chapter 4

Puck kept going over his conversation with Rachel, wondering what, exactly, had ticked her off. He was angry about her washing his jacket, yeah, but he was more bewildered by the fact that he had been _yelled at _by Rachel fricking Berry. At lunch he went over what he should have said to her after she had given him her little speech and by the end of the day… he was ready to find her and tell her what he _should_ have told her that morning.

As the final bell rang, he shot from his seat and started winding his way through the lockers. He wasn't absolutely sure which locker was hers, but since she was pulling her books from her locker, he didn't need to be.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the locker next to hers.

"Hi," she said, pausing to scope his hands for possible drink attacks. When she didn't see any purple beverages, Rachel went back to deciding which books she needed to take home with her.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, licking his lips as he took in a breath to start his retort to her morning anger. "I didn't _ask _you to wash my jacket. _You _asked to borrow it, I said no, and then I gave it to you. Okay? I didn't – "

"Why did you?" Rachel asked, pausing as she shook her book bag to cram more work into it. She looked up at him from where she was now kneeling in front of her locker, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"Why did I _what_?" he asked, her interruption throwing him off. He had this whole speech prepared – he didn't need her interrupting him and throwing him off track.

"You said I couldn't borrow your jacket, but then you decided to hand it over to me moments later. Why did you change your mind, Noah?" She stood, straightening as she put her backpack over her shoulders. She straightened the jacket she was smart enough to wear today – a soft blue thing. At least, he _assumed _it was soft. It looked that way and he almost wanted to reach out and touch her arm to confirm his guess.

"I…" he trailed off, lifting his eyes from her jacket to try and come up with a good excuse that would explain why he had let her borrow the letterman. "There were cheerleaders watching me. I wanted to look like a gentleman."

Rachel looked like she didn't believe him. "Right. _Well_, if you want your jacket back, you can come get it at my house."

"Can't you just bring it to school tomorrow?" He asked slowly, not wanting to be seen parked outside of Rachel Berry's house.

"I _would_," she said, slamming her locker shut forcefully. Puck didn't take it as a sign of anger – some lockers were just really hard to shut. "_But _I don't really think you want me walking through the hallways tomorrow morning with your jacket draped over my arm."

He pictured it. Rachel would be walking down the hallway, her long hair constantly shifting over her shoulder like it always did. She would walk by him, throwing the smell of flowers (or whatever her perfume smelled like) at him. And she would have his jacket on her, making it look like they were _dating. _

"Right," he said, nodding to interrupt this sequence of images. "I'll come pick it up."

"Right," she agreed, starting to walk down the busy hallway. "If you don't want your car to be seen at my house, I can give you a ride. You can duck down the whole way if you want. I'll be in the parking lot for a few minutes."

She was gone after that, leaving him thoughtful. Okay, so Rachel wasn't a cool person. She wasn't. Never had been, probably never would be. It was kind of sad, though, how she was so accustomed to being an outcast that she didn't see anything wrong with it. She even told him he could duck down in her car the whole way. After she had washed his jacket for him and did him a favor.

Puck began to think that high school was sort of screwed up.

But even more screwed up was the fact that he didn't know which car was Rachel's.

So he approached Finn casually at his locker, scratching the side of his face nonchalantly. "Hey, Finn," he said, ignoring Quinn altogether on purpose. "You know Rachel Berry, right? Do you know which car is hers?"

Finn dropped his Physiology book, bending to pick it up. "Uh, yeah. I do. Why?" he questioned, looking a little suspicious. "You're not going to slash her tires or something, are you?"

"Me, do that?" Puck asked, feigning innocence with his hand over his heart. "Never. She's giving me a ride somewhere and I'm supposed to meet her at her car. Which one's hers?"

Finn gave him a description of Rachel's car, including the foam antenna topper that was in the shape of a gold star. It didn't take long to find the car, since the star was bending in the wind above the rest of the vehicles in the parking lot.

He climbed into her car without a word, settling his backpack down by his feet. Rachel didn't say anything, either, putting her car into gear and starting to drive through the parking lot.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. "Some of your friends are up ahead. You should duck down now."

Puck acted like he didn't hear her, but he readjusted his body anyway.

He sat up straighter, not even attempting to hide.


	5. Chapter 5

"You have a lot of trophies," Noah stated, his voice a monotone as he surveyed the golden trophies and ribbons that were piled high upon a shelf in Rachel's room. A low whistle of shock accompanied the dull statement. He supposed he shouldn't really be surprised. This was _Rachel Berry's _room, after all. What she lacked in popularity skills she made up with the drive to be perfect and long legs. Smooth, long legs, to be more specific. His gaze wandered to her knee, noticing she even got the supposedly hard spot to shave. His mother had cut herself there more than once while attempting to rid herself of prickly cactus hairs.

Rachel cleared her throat, bringing his eyes back up to her face. "I'm sure you have a lot of trophies."

He stared at her. Him, trophies? For what? Being a loser award? World's Greatest Father? "For what?" he asked, his tone incredulous. Didn't she know who he was? He was Noah Puckerman. His claim to fame was the fact that he banged cougars and had a mohawk. And impregnated a cheerleader, but... no one knew that yet.

"Uh, football?" she guessed. Her tone revealed that she didn't really know anything about football and hadn't kept a track record of how many times their football team had won _anything. _

"Uh, no?" he mimicked, rolling his eyes as he took a lap around her room. It was everything he thought it'd be. Not that he had been imagining Rachel Berry's room, but... on the way to her house he had a sort of prediction going as to what it would look like. The real thing was pretty close. "We suck, if you haven't noticed."

"You won that game with Kurt," Rachel protested, smoothing her skirt over her knees. Her smooth knees, which led to smooth calves which led to smooth and slender ankles. He needed to get out of here.

"Yeah, but that was all," he said, rubbing his face with his hand. "Look, I have other things to do, so if I could just get my jacket I'll be outta your hair. I'm sure your parents don't want to come home and see their daughter alone with some guy."

He knew Rachel had two fathers, since that was common knowledge around the school. It wasn't scandalous or gross, just a fact. Sometimes it made him angry to see how readily people would accept two gay guys but not their over-achieving daughter. "I think they'd be relieved, actually," Rachel said quietly, standing from her bed and smoothing the wrinkle she had created in the bedspread. "They're supportive of my singing and Glee club and theater, but they still want me to be-"

"Sexually active?" he guessed, interrupting her.

"- Not a loser."

A silence fell over the two for a moment, as they both took in what the other had said. Finally, Rachel laughed lightly. "We should go check to see if your jacket's done drying..." His jacket, as big and thick as it was, needed to run through two drying cycles to be completely dry. Rachel hadn't realized this until she had pulled it from the dryer and found it to be damp between her fingers. So the two had headed to her nearby bedroom to wait for the jacket to finish running through the second cycle.

"You're not a loser," he offered as they walked down the hallway and into the laundry room. It was sort of a lie, but he felt guilty and so he was willing to let it slip from between his lips.

Rachel wasn't impressed with his ability to lie to her. "Yes, I am," she said, shrugging as she flicked on the lightswitch. "I don't care."

Puck wasn't impressed with _her _lying, either. He raised an eyebrow, giving her a look that plainly said he knew she wasn't telling the truth.

"Much," she amended, pulling the dryer door open and fishing out his jacket. She rubbed the materials between her fingers, looking dissatisfied with the job it had done. "Does this feel done to you?"

He briefly squeezed a leather sleeve of the letterman jacket. "No," he said, groaning. How long was this going to take? Rachel was being nice to him, but it still felt awkward to be here. The way they were talking was... weird. He wanted to get back to the high school, where he didn't feel the need to assure her that she wasn't some kind of reject... the place where he didn't spend three straight minutes staring at the smooth skin of her legs.

* * *

I'm sorry this is all I have to offer you. :( I've become lame and haven't updated as much as I've wanted to. I blame it on the fact that my PC crashed and I have to resort to typing on my laptop where all I have is Wordpad. I MISS YOU, MICROSOFT WORD. Sob. Anyway. I'll try to update this weekend. Because this was too short and dissatisfying.


End file.
